Not trying to be funny, sounding like LL Cool J, but it is true. I need love. Why is there so much fake love and real hate out there in the world? Why can’t motherfuckers be honest and real with you? You meet a person and they seem all genuine to your face. But the moment you turn your back, they’re fake as fuck! And I hate that technology gets involved in this fuckery. Texting is the most ignorant way of communicating. Never say what they mean, mean what they say, or use dumbass emojis. I will never know how a smiley face implies as direct conversation or of how you’re truly feeling. Why did it become so complicated for us to have a decent conversation today? When did it become cool to be a habitual liar? A manipulator? A sociopath? This is cool?! This is an abomination, and I want no parts of it. I want for every fuck nigga and punk ass bitch to leave me alone! I want every man to stop begging for my pussy, if you think you’re only going to get one good use of it. Believe me, it’s had EVERY dumb ass coming back, STUCK ON STUPID AS FUCK! Not that I’m broadcasting or anything. But WHAT IN THE FUCK?! There are things that I want and need and with the way the world is working, none of you are right for me. Even as a friend, I want no parts in you. I don’t need to be robbed again, of things that I’ve worked too hard for. I don’t need another knife placed in my heart. Don’t you understand, I’m already a fragile person?! Why make someone hate themselves for being themselves? Don’t kiss me, smile in my face, say & do things to make me think you want to be around, when we both know you don’t. See, my issue is that people think I don’t see the signs and road blocks. I’ve seen them loud and clear and a gazillion times from the bitch or nigga before you. Trust, I am very well caught up! And I have learned my lessons. I’m growing from those lessons. I may still have to shed tears, but these are my tears of the pain and sorrow. And don’t take them as a sign of weakness. Because no, I’m not weak! I’m still a fighter! But I’m fighting in my own way. I’m gaining my old strength back and some new strengths in my process. No one knows my internal exterior, simply because no one has ever been interested. Well one day, someone will be interested. They’re going to want to know all of the whos, whats, whys, whens, wheres, and hows… And hopefully, I will be willing to give them all of those answers. Hopefully, they’ll want me to be an open book, and read between the lines. I hope that they’ll allow me to cry, and not judge a single tear that falls down my cheek. I hope they’ll like every wrinkle in my frown, or how rosy my cheeks get when I crack a smile. Understand that we all have flaws, and that we aren’t perfect, and that we all have a past, but thinks I’m wonderful overall. I want there to be love. Let our souls connect. Our eyes to meet. And our minds to intellect. I want to believe it’s out there. But when all you’ve ever seen is hurt, rage, lies, pain, anger, deception, distraught, and disasters… Can I still believe it’s amongst me?! Is love a real thing? Or is it just another way to make a dollar?
Why is it that when you tell people you are in the position of changing yourself for the good, people have to negify it? Yeah, that’s not even a word? Lol. “You’re switching up!” Or “You’re acting funny!” But when i was already being serious and now that I’ve gotten MORE serious, you can’t seem to comprehend?! *heavy sigh* What stupid vortex dimension have I warped myself into?! And these people try to label this shit with illnesses and say that I’m the problem? No, the issue is that people are fucking idiots and lack common fucking sense. Daily. Which leads to the shallow depths of deception (i.e. alcoholism, addiction, depression, and the all more serious suicide). “Mask Off, fucking Mask Off!”
After another one of my weird dreams, I awoke with a bloody nose. The realism of it all. But i must say, I’m realizing that I am doing way better than last year. Maybe it was a reflection of my past misery? Maybe the concurring misery of it all? An ultimate downward spiral…Cocaine. Some thing I miss, at times. Not that i was ever a stone cold killer of it, nor would i let that become a real habit of mines, because it ain’t that great or anything. But i do miss the feeling of being able to further expand my mind with it. Hey, don’t knock it til you try it! *serious Uncle Sam face and finger* It isn’t for everybody. But as my nose was oozing, it just felt so familiar. If I could chug a bottle of vodka at 9:28 am, then I probably would’ve done so. Why do people drive Evalynn to want to come out? I dislike her, because she just doesn’t give a fuck! WOAH! Woosah, Jaydddde… Easier said than done! Because just yesterday I picked up my straight razor, that I usually use to shape up people’s eyebrows, and darted it right against my arm and pressed down very hard. No, I didn’t cut myself! I just made myself flinch, that’s all. But I definitely did consider it. The desperation of wanting to feel actual physical pain, instead of the pain of everything else is PRICELESS! Now, here’s my issue, with this melodramatic dream and the actions I consider driving towards. Why did I dream about something I haven’t touched in an entire year? Why did I wake up as if I did snort a couple of Quaaludes? Maybe I need to stop letting Al Pacino put me to sleep at night and watch something with Lindsay Lohan? Hmmph… Do I subconsciously want to pick back up this habit? Or is this Evalynn trying to fuck with the rest of the bitches in my head, who have been cooperative and maintaining their composure? I mean, what the fuck? Lol.
Doesn’t anyone understand that I’m slowly entering a grave and all I want is for it to end? Put me out of my misery. And yet, I’m still here! No signs of cancer. No brain tumor. Just a strong case of Diabetes and Bulimia. Thank you God. Thank you for prolonging my suffering! And thank you to those in the medical field who think medication is the answer, when it only causes more hell and fuckery down the road. My life is a prime example!
So I hung out with Mike Will Made It, not the actual producer, but that’s what I plugged him into my phone as, when I met him. He’s not even into Hip-Hop, just FYI! But when I talk to him, I know he listens. Correction…He stares and listens! And when he replies with his input, he does it without being aggressive and rude. He’s straight to the point, which is why he somewhat inspired my character Julian. Unfortunately, ‘Consequences’ is complete fiction. And I’m having a strong case of writer’s block. Because I do have the story completed on paper and finished in my head. I just feel that I need to make it more visionary. And then I feel more pressured and more stressed. But then I remember, no one really cares about who I am yet. This is just another dumb blog for me to release the stress with my vivid and imaginative vocabulary. But I want to get it out of the way to gain some exposure as a serious writer. Get published? Who knows?!
Back to the bad case of Diabetes and Bulimia, I have to take my diet seriously. My fast has begun. It’s been a while since, I have deprived myself. Maybe this will help me gain some control over my inner demons. Because let’s face it, food is another addiction! And I’m running low on weed anyways. And I hate who I am when I drink. So I am in need of a three-day cleanse. I’m going to take this weekend and think about my future actions further. I’m going to create interesting plot twists. And I’m not going to take any more bullshit from no one. “So fuck you, Debbie!“